


pennies from heaven (for you & me)

by talkwordytome, WildnessBecomesYou



Series: Emily-verse (Ratched) [4]
Category: Ratched (TV)
Genre: Baking, Dancing, Emily-verse, F/F, Fluff, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Child Neglect, Letters, Musicals, New York City, Original Character(s), References to Cancer, Sleepovers, TGTYEL-verse, bonding with children, one (1) brain cell, protective mamas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:09:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28418157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/talkwordytome/pseuds/talkwordytome, https://archiveofourown.org/users/WildnessBecomesYou/pseuds/WildnessBecomesYou
Summary: in which the Briggs-Ratched household receives a special surprise visit from some old friends
Relationships: Elina (original character)/Violet (original character), Gwendolyn Briggs & Emily (original character), Gwendolyn Briggs/Mildred Ratched, Mildred Ratched & Emily (original character)
Series: Emily-verse (Ratched) [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2036965
Comments: 54
Kudos: 67





	pennies from heaven (for you & me)

**Author's Note:**

> wildnessbecomesyou & I (talkwordytome) came together to write the crossover fic of the century, and we very much hope y'all enjoy it!
> 
> title comes from the Louis Prima version of "Pennies from Heaven", which is referenced in the fic despite not being released until 1960, for Important Fluff Reasons™️
> 
> rated Teen for a few very tame sex references/innuendos, one use of the word "fuck" in English, and a few swear words in Spanish
> 
> we did our best with the Spanish but some of the translations may be a bit clunky, so apologies to anyone who is more fluent than we are!
> 
> the title of this was very nearly "man me a sand" 
> 
> this fic takes place in June 1955, which means Emily is about a month away from turning 11

That summer is a cool one, but gentle, the sweetly balmy days gracefully slipping into chilly nights. Mildred develops a taste for lavender shortbreads, which she bakes in abundance using the lavender she picks from Gwendolyn and Emily’s garden. There are violets, too, along with creeping thyme and peonies; black-eyed Susans and echinacea. It’s a summer for _The Seven Year Itch_ and _Lady and the Tramp_ at the drive-in, for slow dancing to Kitty Kallen in the kitchen, for poolside reading of Patricia Highsmith. A summer for slow mornings spent lounging in pajamas and late evenings spent catching fireflies in old jelly jars. A summer for picnics and bike rides and tree climbing and day trips to Coney Island. A summer as blithe and beatific as the warm shallows of an endless lake.

Saturday mornings are precious moments in time, windows open and record player crooning whatever album has struck Gwendolyn’s fancy upon waking. The sunlight that streams in warms Emily’s back and lights her messy-morning curls up like tigers-eye stones. Gwendolyn makes coffee as Mildred pours Emily orange juice. Emily nearly always finishes breakfast first, still occasionally in the practice of scarfing down her meals. 

It’s easier, later in the day, but old habits are hardest to break in the morning. Gwendolyn treats her and Mildred with the same endless patience. When they get the hiccups, she teaches them the same trick her own grandmother taught her: sip from a glass of water, move your mouth to the far side of your face, hold your nose, and tip yourself over. Doing this sends Emily into helpless fits of giggles just as often as it cures her hiccups, which, Gwendolyn thinks, is its own reward.

Emily has finished her breakfast and has drifted into the living room with plans to spend the rest of the morning digging into the newest _Nancy Drew._ She’s going through a girl detective phase, and a few weeks ago worked very hard to solve the case of the disappearing cookies. Emily suspected potential foul play, but Gwendolyn, as it turned out, was feeding them to the birds just as they were about to go stale. Emily was disappointed at the banality of the reveal; Mildred was disappointed that Gwendolyn was divesting them of perfectly good sweets.

_The Witch Tree Symbol_ , however, is quickly abandoned in favor of a much more compelling puzzle. There’s a car out in front of the house, and it most certainly does not belong to them. Vagabonds, perhaps? Or maybe glamorous movie stars? Emily drops her book and considers this new mystery before calling out to gather more clues. 

“Why are there two ladies in our driveway?”

Gwendolyn, certain she has misheard, puts down her newspaper and goes to the living room. There she finds Emily, who is staring curiously out the front window. 

“Did you just ask why there are two ladies in our driveway?” Gwendolyn questions.

“Look,” Emily insists, pointing. “Right there.” She presses her nose against the glass and squints. “I think they’re arguing.”

Mildred rises from her spot at the table to join the both of them, and there are indeed two women, standing in front of a car and arguing. A blonde, her hair in a French twist, wearing a perfectly-tailored suit, and a slightly shorter woman in a vibrant dress with wild and loose dark curls. The blonde waves what Emily thinks may be a headscarf in the air in the general direction of their car; the curly-haired woman pulls at her own hair and shoots her arms straight up in the air. They can almost hear their voices through the windows, thick accents heightened by sheer volume. 

“My God,” Gwendolyn breathes, “Mildred, is that--” 

Mildred presses her own nose to the window, mirroring Emily, ignoring her own endless warnings about smudging the glass. After a moment she gasps and beams. She grabs Gwendolyn’s hand and tugs her towards the front door. 

“It _is_!” Mildred squeals. 

Mildred grabs her robe from where it lies on the back of the sofa, for once glad that it’s not upstairs where it’s supposed to be. She throws it on over her nightgown before rushing out the door. Gwendolyn, unconcerned with propriety, goes outside in nothing but her bare feet and rose patterned pajamas. Emily trails behind them, slightly anxious about this odd new development but intrigued nonetheless.

Gwendolyn gives a shout of joy as she bursts through their front door and down the two front steps. The two women stop their gestures and voices immediately, and the golden-skinned woman throws her arms open with a delighted, “ _Papi_!” 

Emily is nearly sure that means something Gwendolyn certainly is _not_ , but she doesn’t comment on it. 

Mildred follows Gwendolyn down the steps and launches herself at the taller blonde, who lets out a little _oof_ and chuckles. “Hello, muru,” she smiles, and Mildred lowers herself back to her heels with a grin. 

“Elina, this is really a surprise,” Gwendolyn laughs, clapping their hands together in a two-handed shake before hugging her. Mildred giggles and bounces towards the other woman. 

“Oh, niña,” she sighs, wrapping her arms around Mildred’s waist and swaying them from side to side. 

“Violet,” Mildred half-gasps. “Why didn’t you _tell_ us you were coming?” 

The taller woman-- _Elina_ , Emily corrects herself-- turns to Violet with her lips pressed in a line. “Rakas.”

Violet grins guiltily. “Reina?”

“You did tell them, didn’t you?”

Violet moves behind Mildred slightly and grins over her shoulder. Elina brings a hand to her face as Gwendolyn cackles. “First you won’t let me stop for gas…”

“Who’s this little darling?” Violet interrupts, turning towards Emily, still standing on the stoop of her home. “Is that our little muñeca?” 

Emily looks from side to side, and when no one else is standing near her realizes she must be the _muñeca_ in question. She raises her hand and waves shyly, and suddenly wishes very much that she wasn’t wearing pink-striped pajamas she’s nearly outgrown. She attempts to smooth her messy curls, which she’s yet to brush.

“Come here, darling,” Gwendolyn calls to Emily. “Come meet Violet and Elina.”

Emily takes a single step forward, though immediately halts when this causes the dark haired woman-- _Violet_ , Emily thinks--to shriek with giddy excitement. It’s never occurred to her that she could ever be the cause for such commotion. 

“Darling,” Elina says, a gentle hand on Violet’s elbow, “you are scaring the pulu.”

_Pulu?_ , Emily thinks. She again assumes the word must be directed at her, but she has no idea what it might mean. Gwendolyn and Mildred are smiling widely, though, so it can’t be anything bad. She relaxes slightly.

Mildred holds a hand out to Emily, her other hand still on Violet’s arm. She squeezes in the air once, twice, and smiles tenderly. This is enough to unfreeze Emily, and she completes her short walk to where all four women stand. She immediately steps behind Mildred and uses her body as something of a shield. She peeks out, her head tucked just below Mildred’s shoulder. Mildred runs an absently comforting hand through Emily’s hair.

“This is Emily,” Mildred says. She turns to Emily. “Can you say hi?”

Emily blushes. “Hi,” she squeaks, before hiding herself more fully behind Mildred.

“She’s a bit bashful around new people,” Gwendolyn says, and though Emily usually detests it when people discuss her as if she’s not there, in this moment she’s grateful for Gwendolyn’s explanation.

“Well, that’s alright,” Elina says, bending slightly. She doesn’t do so in the way that makes Emily feel chastised; she keeps her knees straight, bends at the hip, looks Emily in the eye as she sticks out her hand. “I’m Elina. Elina Järvinen.”

Emily tries to wrap her tongue around the glamorous woman’s last name. Elina smiles, and it’s a gentle thing. “You can call me Elina, pulu.” 

“Go on,” Mildred encourages. She nudges Emily forward. 

Emily takes Elina’s hand and grips it firmly, just the way Gwendolyn has practiced with her. Elina quirks one eyebrow up in surprise. 

“What does pulu mean?” Emily asks. 

Elina’s grin widens as she straightens herself up. “Pigeon. Affectionately.”

Emily thinks on this for a moment. “Sometimes I feed the pigeons when we go into the city,” she says, “but I’m not allowed to touch them because Mildred says they carry diseases.”

Elina’s face twitches for a moment, and then a low sound rumbles from her throat and opens her mouth. She laughs, the hand that had just held Emily’s pressed to her chest, and it’s a deep and resonant sound. It reminds Emily of a cello. She likes it immediately.

“Oh, muru,” Elina gasps when she’s recovered herself, “how did you find this little one?”

Mildred kisses Emily on the crown of her head. She beams at Elina and Violet, apparently too delighted with Emily’s very existence to answer Elina’s question. Emily, sensing that she has perhaps said something funny without intending to, turns pink and ducks back behind Mildred.

“She teases because she loves,” Violet assures Emily. “She’s really quite sweet.” 

“Am I?”

Violet grins, cheeks pink with joy, and pushes lightly at Elina. “When you’re not arguing with me.” 

Gwendolyn lets loose another laugh at that. A bird _caws_ back at her and she starts, remembers they’re outside. “Oh, goodness, your bags, come-- let’s go inside.” 

She moves to the back of the car, tugs at the trunk until it pops open. There are three suitcases, and she takes two of them, leaving the other for Elina. Mildred squeezes Emily close before turning back towards the house. Violet takes the hand she holds behind her, coos after the neatly-trimmed bushes that line their walkway. 

“Gwendolyn and I planted them,” Emily responds, a hint of pride in her voice. 

“They look very nice,” Violet responds. She’s still grinning, and her fingers twitch towards Emily, but she doesn’t touch. 

Gwendolyn, Mildred, and Emily show Elina and Violet to the guest room, which was just redecorated the previous summer in soft, fresh shades of green, a faint memory of the great room in Gwendolyn’s old California house. 

“I picked out the curtains,” Emily offers shyly from the doorway, “and the bedspread.”

“Yes she _did_ ,” Gwendolyn confirms, her smile so wide it threatens to split her face in two.

Violet and Elina are left to their own devices while Gwendolyn, Mildred, and Emily dress for the day. Emily spends much longer than she ordinarily would on a summer Saturday deliberating what outfit to wear. She finally settles on a blue and white plaid sunsuit with a halter neck that Gwendolyn bought for her a few weeks ago during a trip to Bloomingdale’s. She pulls her hair into two neat pigtails and finishes each off with a red ribbon. 

By the time Emily is done getting ready, Gwendolyn is helping Violet and Elina unpack. Emily briefly hovers unseen just outside the guest room, deliberating, but eventually decides to seek out Mildred instead. She finds her in the kitchen, preparing glasses of lemonade and a tray of snacks. She’s wearing a dress Emily particularly loves; the pale yellow top half ties off at the collar with an enormous bow, and the skirt is a green and white bric-a-brac pattern. She smiles when she sees Emily.

“Sweet thing,” Mildred says. “Care to give me a hand?”

Emily nods. Mildred hands her a plate of tea sandwiches cut into triangles. “Will you put the nice toothpicks in these, please?” she asks. “To dress them up a bit.”

Emily nods again, pops up on her tiptoes to get the aforementioned toothpicks from their cabinet. Mildred watches her work silently. 

“Alright there?” she asks. 

Emily nods a third time, and Mildred makes a little noise that tells Emily she isn’t satisfied with that answer. “You really didn’t know they were coming?” 

Mildred sighs, a little wistful. “No, though I think Elina _meant_ to tell us. Violet seems to have had other ideas.” She pauses, her spoon in the fifth glass stilling. “You must be overwhelmed.”

“A little,” Emily admits. Mildred frowns, and Emily’s heart thuds against her chest. “It’s not much of a bother, I promise, only a little. They seem very… pleasant.” 

Mildred crosses the kitchen, pulls Emily back against her with an arm around the front of her shoulders and a kiss to the top of her head. “That’s alright, sweets. They’re old friends. They were very patient with me, when we first met.”

Emily’s eyes widen a bit as she looks up. “Have they _always_ been this way?”

Mildred chuckles softly. “Violet? Yes. What you see is what you get. Elina used to frighten me, before I knew any better.” She bounces a finger to Emily’s nose, a light, teasing touch. “But like Violet said, she is very sweet.” 

Emily chews at her lip for a moment as she spears the little sandwiches. “Are they… are they like you and Mom?”

Mildred’s smile softens. “Yes. Very much so, and for longer than us.”

This fascinates Emily, and her eyebrows shoot up. She _thunks_ a toothpick into the tray, missing the next triangle completely. “For _longer_?” Emily cannot begin to fathom a longer time than nearly seven years, over half her own lifetime.

Mildred hums in agreement, drops another kiss to Emily’s forehead. She looks as if she’s about to say something more when Elina’s voice interrupts them. 

“I hope there’s something to eat around here, muru, I am _famished._ ” She leans across the window between the dining room and kitchen with a smile in her eyes. “Violet positively refused to let us stop unless we were completely out of gas.” She spots the sandwiches and reaches for a toothpick, only to pout when Mildred swats at her hand. 

“Patience,” Mildred scolds her, and Elina’s jaw drops open slightly. 

“Bossy,” she teases. “Is this what motherhood does to a person?”

Mildred sticks out her tongue and pulls a face on her way out of the kitchen to make Emily giggle.

The five women linger over the snacks for some time, laughingly reminiscing over old times and lightly arguing when one of them gets a detail wrong or leaves something out. Emily sprawls out on the floor, lying on her stomach, and listens to the stories with rapt attention. Her keen girl detective brain files away the moment Mildred quickly changes the subject from a funny cigarette, and makes a note to ask about it later. _No one_ , Emily thinks, _turns that red over something boring._

The rest of the day is spent lounging out by the garden, as Violet and Elina are still too tired from their long trip to do much else. Emily alternates between sitting on Mildred’s lap and Gwendolyn’s, even though she would usually insist she’s getting too old for it. She whispers to them questions she has for Violet and Elina so Mildred and Gwendolyn can ask them in her place.

Night falls. Emily is sent to bed early with the promise that tomorrow will be busy, and she is just overstimulated enough from having company that she doesn’t bother to argue. This leaves Mildred, Gwendolyn, Elina, and Violet in the living room, all nursing French 45s Mildred made using the leftover lemonade. Mildred and Gwendolyn are curled up together on the sofa, and Elina has tucked her long limbs onto a squashy armchair. Violet is cross-legged on the floor.

It’s Elina who thinks to ask the big question: “So how much,” she begins, addressing both Gwendolyn and Mildred, “does the pulu know about Mexico?”

Gwendolyn and Mildred exchange glances. Gwendolyn begins to bounce her foot against the floor. “Ahem,” Gwendolyn says, “well, not…very much.”

“And how much, precisely, is _that_?” Elina asks dryly.

Another glance is exchanged. “I suppose we haven’t really told her anything,” Mildred admits. “It’s…not a topic that comes up organically.”

Violet takes Mildred’s hand and squeezes it, unconsciously reassuring herself just as much as she’s reassuring Mildred. “If she asks us how we know you,” she says, “what should we tell her? Or should we tell her anything at all?”

Gwendolyn ponders this. “If she asks,” she says, “you can tell her we met when Mildred and I lived in Mexico. But if she wants to know more, I think, perhaps, direct her to us.”

“No talk of our little bar?” Elina asks. She takes a sip of her 45 before waving a hand in the air. “I’m joking. Does she know about Fernanda?” 

“In that she knows we became friends with Gwendolyn’s doctor,” Mildred murmurs. She squeezes Violet’s hand lightly. It helps her, too. “And that Gwendolyn was…was sick. But not the details of what the sickness was.” 

“Mm.” Elina takes another sip of her drink. 

They sit quietly for a few moments. Violet, as she always has been, is the one to break the silence. “She knows nothing of…?”

“Not very much,” Mildred responds. “She knows I was an orphan. I haven’t… she doesn’t know the details.”

Violet’s chin quivers for a moment, and she stares up at Mildred with wide chestnut eyes, tugs gently at her hand. “Niña.” 

It’s barely even a whisper as it drops from her lips, and Mildred shakes her head. Gwendolyn nudges at her foot with her toes, offers a small and comforting smile. 

“We’d like to keep it that way,” Gwendolyn confirms, answering the question that hangs in the air. “At least for now. If it helps her, we’ll tell her, but both of my girls need to be ready.” 

Elina nods once, sharply. Then she pushes herself up, reaches in her pocket. “No smoking in the house?” she asks Mildred. 

Mildred wrinkles her nose. “No.”

Elina snorts lightly, jerks her head towards the back deck. “Briggs?” 

Gwendolyn glances at Mildred, who shrugs. She rises, reaches for Mildred and pulls her in for a kiss by the back of the neck. Then she follows Elina out to the back deck, breathes deeply in the smoke that comes from the cigar Elina lights. Elina passes it to her after a few sucks of air, clears her throat and takes another sip of her drink. 

“She’s gotten good at these,” Elina says, tipping the glass back in the direction of the living room. 

“She’s become quite the little housewife,” Gwendolyn mutters around the cigar. 

Elina snorts. “Bet you like that.”

“Mmm. It’s nice.”

She passes the cigar back to Elina. They stand in silence for a few moments, leaning on the railing of the deck with their forearms, shirts rolled up to their elbows. Elina lost her suit jacket early in the day, and Gwendolyn is sure Violet will chide her later for letting it wrinkle. 

Elina holds the cigar out to Gwendolyn, ice-blue eyes glinting in the firefly-darkness. “Do you know about _Emily’s_ past?”

Gwendolyn chews on her own teeth for a moment before she answers. “We know she was bounced around quite a bit. She-- she’d never had nice things, before us. She wasn’t-- wasn’t allowed to be a child.” She clears her throat, takes a long drag of the cigar, coughs and thumps at her chest. Elina takes the cigar from her fingers. “It was like having a little adult living with us, at first. She’s blossomed quite well.” She offers Elina a slightly pained look. “She…she reminded me so much of what Mildred must’ve been like.”

Elina considers this as she takes a short puff. Smoke curls out of her nose. She looks like a dragon. “You’ve no idea if any of her… past placements, I suppose--?”

She doesn’t need to finish the thought. Gwendolyn clenches her jaw. “No. I’m not sure Mildred would tell me if she suspected.”

Elina snorts. “She’d probably worry you’d kill the poor bastards,” she drawls. 

Gwendolyn raises an eyebrow and makes a knowing sound in the back of her throat. Elina isn’t wrong. 

When they return inside, Violet has tipped herself into Mildred’s lap, her drink already drained. Mildred sips at her own glass and cards through her curls with her other hand. They look up to their wives with near-identical looks of delight, despite the other women only being away for a short while. 

The next morning finds Mildred anxiously examining the pantry and the refrigerator as she jots down a list of all the items she thinks they need. “We didn’t shop with company in mind,” she explains apologetically as Elina, Gwendolyn, and Violet drink their coffee and Emily eats her Rice Krispies. 

Violet carelessly waves away Mildred’s concern. “So we’ll go to the grocery store!” she says. “It’ll be an adventure.”

Gwendolyn raises an eyebrow and glances to Mildred. “Will it?” she asks through a laugh, and Mildred blushes. Violet gasps and giggles. 

Elina helps Mildred with the breakfast dishes while Violet flits upstairs to get dressed. On her way to her own bedroom, Emily passes by the guest room and sees Violet removing an outfit from her suitcase. It’s several pieces, as far as Emily can tell, and all of them are adorned with patterns of beautiful, tropical flowers. It’s unlike anything Emily has ever seen, and entirely without meaning to she gasps at the sheer pleasure of it existing in the world.

Violet hears her, and she turns to the open door. She grins. “You like it?” she asks.

Emily nods seriously. “I _love_ it,” she specifies, feeling that _like_ is a terribly measly word for the emotions she’s experiencing. 

“Would you like to come feel it?” Violet asks, flinging the skirt out towards Emily with only a little more drama than entirely necessary. “It’s not fragile, ven aca!” 

She gestures towards herself and the skirt, and Emily bounces once on her toes before bounding towards Violet. The dark-haired woman pats the bed with twinkling eyes, and Emily clambers up, tucks her legs under her body, sits with a very straight back. 

She gasps again when Violet spreads the fabrics over Emily’s bare knees. Emily yanks her hands back, and Violet gently wraps her fingers around Emily’s wrist, pulls her hand to the fabric. “This,” she stage whispers, “is a huipil, the traditional dress of my people.” She guides Emily’s hand over the softness of the top. “Feel that?” 

Emily nods again, too breathless to form words. “Velvet,” Violet tells her. “Quite a lot of velvet, no? Feel this,” she adds, tapping at one of the flowers. Emily follows her directions. “That is silk thread. These orange and pink flowers are roses, like the ones Elina and I grow at home.” 

“You grow roses!” Emily exclaims, bounces against her heels. “We tried, but Gwendolyn says that the winters get too cold to keep them in the actual garden, that we’d need to bring them in when the weather turns.” 

Violet grins at her. Her eyes seem to go golden in the morning sun that comes through the windows. “They are gorgeous. If you ever visit, I will have to pick you some for your room.”

Emily scrunches her free hand at the idea of visiting Violet and Elina. Mexico seems very far away. 

“Roses,” Violet continues. “And these purple ones? They are dahlias.” 

“Dahlias are for creativity,” Emily repeats from memory.

“Very good, muñeca,” Violet grins. She guides Emily’s fingers over the square of flowers that frame the torso of the black velvet top. Then she tugs the top off of Emily’s lap, slides the skirt over the little girl’s legs instead. She turns, removes the pajama top she’d worn overnight, and pulls the top over her head. When she returns to facing Emily, she smooths the capped sleeves over her arms and sighs in delight. 

Emily traces the waves of dahlias and roses on the hem of the velvet skirt. “Is it very hot?” she asks. 

Violet laughs in delight. “No, muñeca,” she says, fluffing at a lacey piece of linen that rests under the skirt. “We wear this to keep our skin cool.” She slides it out from beneath the velvet overskirt and holds it up for Emily to examine.

She reaches out and rubs the light material between her fingers. There are solid vertical stripes of cotton that alternate with lacey figures. “Are these roses too?”

“Sí!” She gins, pulls the skirt over her pajama pants before tugging the pants down. “Hold this, please,” she says, sliding the velvet overskirt from Emily’s lap and handing her a silken scarf.

Emily studies the orange and black scarf carefully as Violet adjusts her skirts. “I recognize the roses,” she starts. 

“Good!” 

“What are these? I’ve seen them in the display box in Mildred and Gwendolyn’s room.” 

Violet’s smile softens, and for a moment, Emily worries she might start crying. “Mexican sunflowers,” Violet murmurs. “They are very special to your mothers.” She clears her throat and blinks, then rubs the silk between her fingers. “May I?”

Emily relinquishes the scarf, and Violet folds it lengthwise before tying it around her waist, between the top and her skirts. It hangs over the skirt in a bright line of orange-toned flowers. 

“What do you think?” Violet asks, spinning for Emily. The skirts flare out, skipping over the little bench at the foot of the bed. 

“I think it is entirely too much for the grocer’s,” Gwendolyn drawls from the doorway. Emily looks up, and Gwendolyn is leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed and a tolerantly fond look on her face. It’s the same look she gives Mildred sometimes. 

“It is not!” Emily’s eyes shoot back to Violet and the shocked look on her face. “It is _perfect_ for the grocer’s!”

Gwendolyn shakes her head. “Emily?” Violet asks. 

Emily tugs at a curl before letting it bounce free. “I think it’s beautiful,” she says eventually, and Violet beams. Emily is pleased at that. 

“It is!” Violet turns back to Gwendolyn. “And many little abuelitas worked very hard to make it. It deserves to be seen!” 

Gwendolyn sighs, lifts a hand from her crossed arms before letting it fall back down to her own skin. 

Violet turns back to Emily, gently takes her hands in warm, soft palms. Emily is momentarily entranced by the difference between her small, pale fingers and Violet’s golden, delicate hands. 

“This huipil was created with much care and pride,” she says, bending slightly until Emily’s eyes meet hers. “As the woman who wears it, I owe it to the makers to wear this with just as much pride, to tell their story to whomever may hear it.” She turns back to Gwendolyn, who’s smile has only become fonder, and points to her with one hand. “Every fashion tells a story, and there is no story that is _too much_ for a grocery.” 

Emily has to admit that Violet has a point. Gwendolyn shakes her head and sighs indulgently. “Alright, but I am not wearing a suit.” 

They pile into Mildred and Gwendolyn’s teal Studebaker. Gwendolyn drives, Elina takes the front passenger seat, and Mildred, Violet, and Emily squeeze into the backseat. They take the long way through town to give Violet and Elina the proper tour. As they roll through neighborhood stops, Violet’s skirt spreads over Emily’s right knee; she absentmindedly rubs the velvet between her fingers, doesn’t notice the smile Elina and Violet share in the rearview mirror. They go past Emily’s elementary school, the big public library, the pool, Emily’s favorite playground, and the home of Emily’s best friend, Kathleen O’Moore.

Emily turns faintly pink as she tells them about Kathleen. “We’ve been best friends since fourth grade,” she says. “She has _six_ siblings. Four sisters and two brothers. She’s the youngest. Her house is always _ever_ so loud. She wants to be a writer when she grows up. She’s going to write plays and I’m going to be the star actress in them. We’ve already started practicing.”

Elina turns around from the front bench of the car. “Is that so?” she asks, a wry smile on her face. “Hmm.”

There’s a plan in her eyes, Mildred thinks, but she could never quite decipher the plans Elina whipped together. 

“Do you ever take the pulu to see shows on, oh, what do you call it?” Elina snaps her fingers. “Broadway.” She turns to Emily. “You’d like that, yes?”

Emily’s blue eyes are glittering. “I would love that,” she breathes. 

Elina hums thoughtfully and turns back around. Gwendolyn glances at her with narrowed eyes, and Violet and Mildred cover their mouths against giggles. Emily feels like she may have missed something, but for once, she doesn’t mind. 

Violet certainly makes an impact at the grocer’s. Mildred goes a little pink as she notices the eyes that linger on her friend, shuffles slightly towards Gwendolyn without touching her. Emily is in charge of pushing the cart, which she does with officious gusto. She regularly consults the list Mildred holds in her hand to ensure they haven’t forgotten anything.

“We should make a cake,” Emily says as they make their way past the baking aisle. “To celebrate Violet and Elina visiting.” She looks to Violet and Elina. “I’m a very good baker. Mildred is teaching me. So far I can bake bread, chocolate and vanilla cake, and lots of different types of cookies.”

“All the important things, then,” Elina says, a laugh in her eyes.

“Yes,” Emily says firmly. She inspects the shelves. “Do we have vanilla extract at home?”

When they arrive home, Elina plants her hands on Violet’s hips and guides her up the stairs. “Change,” she demands. Violet whines at her, and she rolls her eyes as she follows along. “You will never forgive me if batter gets in that velvet.” 

When they return downstairs, Violet is wearing what Emily is nearly certain are Elina’s pants; they’re rolled at the ankles several times, and the belt that holds them up is pulled so tight it’s almost comical. It sends Mildred and Gwendolyn into gales of laughter, which makes Violet pout. Emily touches Violet’s hand and gazes up at her with round, earnest eyes. 

“I think you look beautiful, Violet,” she says. 

Violet’s eyes go very wide. She purses her lips. Emily is afraid she’s going to cry, but Violet frames Emily’s face in her hands, warbles, “Oh, muñeca, muy dulce de tu parte.” Emily is left terribly confused, but finds warmth spreading through her chest when Elina ruffles her hair in passing. 

Elina disappears not long after they get home, says she needs to make a call. When questioned, she shrugs mysteriously and makes noises about needing to let Fernanda know they arrived safely. Gwendolyn narrows her eyes, like she doesn’t quite believe it, but shows her to the phone regardless.

Emily, Violet, and Mildred are left in the kitchen. Emily has decreed that they bake the cake as soon as they put the groceries away, and no one is particularly inclined to disagree with her. They decide on a vanilla cake with chocolate icing, and Mildred patiently calls out the ingredients so Emily can fetch them. 

“We sift the dry ingredients together first,” Mildred reminds her.

“I remember,” Emily says, struggling with a new bag of flour. After a moment she sighs and holds it out to Mildred.

Mildred, though, doesn’t have much more luck with it than Emily. She frowns, pulling at the seam, to no avail. “Goodness,” she murmurs, “I don’t see why it should be so difficult to open this.”

“Here,” Violet says, reaching out to grab the bag from Mildred, “let me try it.”

“No, I’ve got it, really,” Mildred says, tightening her hold on the bag.

Violet grasps the flour and tries to pull it out of Mildred’s hands. “Let me see,” she insists, “sometimes the corners are just slightly out of line--” 

Emily watches the two of them go at it like she would a tennis match. Mildred tugs the bag back towards herself, and this, apparently, is the final straw. The top of the bag splits open, so quickly that a cloud of flour puffs out into Mildred’s face, then drifts like a flurry of snow onto the kitchen floor.

Emily gasps. Mildred’s face and hair are covered in the fine white powder. She blinks it away from her eyes. Mildred’s nose twitches, and Violet quickly grips the bottom of the bag and pulls it away, just in time for the sneeze that erupts from the flour-dusted woman. 

Gwendolyn has reappeared by now, watching the scene in the kitchen play out as Louis Prima’s voice and his big band bounce through the air. She yanks her head back at the force of Mildred’s sneeze, coos sympathetically and pushes off the doorframe.

Violet and Mildred stare at each other with wide, shocked eyes. Emily stares at them both. Mildred’s mouth quivers, and she bursts into hysterical, delighted giggles. Violet, once she has gotten over her initial surprise, quickly joins in, and Emily and Gwendolyn follow not too long after. Gwendolyn dusts the flour from Mildred and kisses the tip of her nose.

“Better?” Gwendolyn asks.

Mildred smiles slyly. “Nearly,” she says. 

She reaches into the open bag of powdered sugar that’s sitting on the counter. She takes a handful and tosses it at Violet, hitting her squarely in the chest.

“Coño!” Violet shrieks, then immediately claps a hand over her mouth. 

“Coño?” Emily repeats in a whisper, and Gwendolyn and Mildred both laugh harder. Violet groans and puts her face in her hands.

“Muñeca, _no_ ,” she pleads, “don’t say that word, you’re such a sweet little girl.”

Emily looks at Mildred and Gwendolyn with questioning eyes. They’re both gasping and have tears rolling down their cheeks. “Why can’t I say it?” Emily asks. “What does it mean?”

“It’s a _very_ bad word,” Gwendolyn manages through hiccuping wheezes of laughter.

“ _Very_ ,” Mildred parrots, doubled over, her arms clutching her middle. “You _corrupted_ our child!” she says to Violet, then throws another handful of sugar at her. 

“Oh, no you _don’t_!” Violet squeals. She tries to toss more flour at Mildred, but Mildred ducks behind Emily like she’s a shield.

It lands instead against the sharp corner of Elina’s shoulder, bursting into a firework and coating her neck and the side of her face. Violet gasps again, shrieks, “Reina!” 

Elina blinks rapidly, coughs once, head swiveling to take in the chaos of the scene. She points at Violet. “Who started this?” 

Violet and Mildred point at each other, and Emily slinks away, leaving Mildred half-crouched in her wake. Elina turns to her left, where she spots the old bag of flour, just a few tablespoons left in it. She pours it out into her hands, glares playfully at Violet, and then lobs it at Mildred. 

It hits her in the knee, and she squeals.

“Attack my wife!” Gwendolyn exclaims in mock-fury, scoops Mildred to her, grabs for the sugar. Elina grabs at Violet, who wiggles out of her grasp and screeches as Elina chases her for a shield. 

The kitchen devolves into utter chaos, with Emily somehow ending up on the floor, making sprawling flour-angels on the tile. It cleans the floor as much as it dirties Emily, and as only one of those two things requires a mop, Gwendolyn and Mildred aren’t overly concerned. The cake eventually gets made, and while it’s in the oven Mildred makes the icing and Violet and Emily take turns showering the flour and sugar from their bodies.

Gwendolyn hugs Mildred from behind as she mixes powdered sugar, milk, and vanilla together. “You need a shower too, my love,” she murmurs, then presses a kiss to Mildred’s temple.

Mildred attempts to wipe a smudge of flour from her cheek, but her hands are so messy that it doesn’t make much of a difference. “Let me finish this first,” she insists. She licks a bit of icing from the tip of her thumb. “I’ll do it when the cake is cooling.”

Gwendolyn rolls her eyes, but busies herself mopping the floor and cleaning the counters instead. Elina disappears again, comes back downstairs in pajamas that remind Gwendolyn of Christmas. 

Elina hip-checks Mildred out of the way when the timer for the cake goes off, slips on a pair of oven mitts and pulls the cake out herself. “Perfect,” she says. “Now, you two, shower. Go.” 

Gwendolyn slips an arm around Mildred’s waist and tugs. “You _did_ say you’d shower while the cake was cooling.” 

Mildred huffs, but she follows Gwendolyn upstairs. 

They return to Emily sitting in the living room between Violet and Elina, flipping through the picture album she’d created for her first Christmas in the Briggs household. Elina valiantly pretends that she isn’t deeply affected by it. Violet does no such thing. 

“This is Gwendolyn and me in the ocean last summer,” Emily says, pointing to a photo. “I’m getting lots better at swimming. Gwendolyn is teaching me. Ooh!” she exclaims, pointing to another. “This one is from when Trevor and Andrew took us to the Metropolitan Museum of Art. It’s a very beautiful museum but the Museum of Natural History is my most favorite ever.”

Gwendolyn clears her throat. All three women turn around. “Hi,” Emily says. Her curls are damp from her shower and she’s wearing her favorite nightgown, one Trevor gave to her; it’s white--lacy and delicate--and makes her look like a little girl poet. “I’m showing Violet and Elina the us book.”

Violet looks at Gwendolyn and Mildred with huge, starry eyes. “The _you_ book,” she says, her chin trembling. “Que preciosa.”

“Elina,” Gwendolyn says, sounding mystified, “darling, are you _crying_?”

“No,” Elina says, roughly wiping the backs of her hands across her cheeks. “Don’t be absurd, Briggs. The very idea.”

Mildred makes quick work of icing the cake, and Emily insists on candles even though it’s nobody’s birthday. “We can blow them out at the same time together,” she says importantly, “so that way _all_ of us get a wish.”

Mildred insists that they have something besides cake for dinner, so she whips up lemon pepper chicken and spinach. The spinach largely goes untouched, though Gwendolyn takes a serving to mollify Mildred. They spread out an old blanket on the floor of the living room and settle on it to eat as they watch _The Ed Sullivan Show_. 

“This looks… familiar,” Elina murmurs as she rubs at a corner of the blanket. Violet looks up at her from where she’s settled herself between Elina’s legs.

“Should be,” Gwendolyn mutters around a mouthful of chicken. “Had it since 1950.”

Elina lets out a noise of understanding, and Emily’s eyes widen. “ _Really_?” she asks, suddenly enraptured.

“It was a gift from your Mama,” Gwendolyn tells her. “For Christmas. More of a present for her, really.”

She smirks as Mildred pushes at her shoulder with the side of her hand. “Hush, you,” Mildred chastises, though there’s no heat behind it.

Elina makes a punch out of sherbert, orange juice, and cranberry juice. She adds cream soda to Emily’s and gin to the grown ups’. It’s delicious, sweet and frothy, and Mildred loses track of how many cups she finishes somewhere around her fourth or fifth. Emily, who has never seen Mildred drink more than a glass or two of wine, is endlessly entertained by this new, giggly, overly-affectionate version of her mother. She quickly realizes that nearly anything can send Mildred into breathless fits of laughter, and takes it upon herself to induce this reaction as much as she possibly can. 

Elina smiles fondly at the scene, only frowning when Gwendolyn utters a quiet, “Oh, dear.” 

“Oh, dear?” Elina repeats, before her own punch-drunk brain clicks Emily’s behavior into place. “Oh, _dear_.” 

She and Gwendolyn lock eyes, and then they burst into giggles as well. Violet jumps slightly at the noise, spilling a bit of her drink over her hand. She whines and sucks at the spot, and Elina’s eyes widen at the sight. 

“It’s okay, Elina,” Emily reassures innocently, “I can get her a towel. You don’t need to be so worried.”

Gwendolyn snorts, accidentally inhaling some of her drink in the process.

They get a second wind around eleven and stay up entirely too late, according to Mildred, but she doesn’t make much of an effort to end the party. Emily tells them a scary story she learned from Kathleen’s older brother, a sixteen-year-old named Jamie. She uses different voices for each character to great effect, and receives a standing ovation when she finishes. Violet attempts to tell the story of La Llorona in response, though Elina puts an immediate and urgent stop to it.

“Rakas,” she says gravely, “ _no_. Absolutely not. Much, much too scary for pulu.” She glances at Mildred. “And muru, too, for that matter.”

There is a very competitive game of charades after the scary stories, and then hot chocolate with mountains of whipped cream. They turn the record player on and Gwendolyn teaches them all how to swing dance to “Pennies from Heaven”. Elina, the tallest of the four women, lets Emily stand on the tops of her feet as she leads. When Emily flies through the air after a slightly misjudged toss, Gwendolyn catches her, and they all dissolve into helpless giggles. The swing dancing becomes slow dancing as Mildred sneaks a switch to a Nat King Cole record. 

“Unforgettable,” Mildred tries to sing along, slurring, her arms around Gwendolyn’s neck. “That’s wh--” she interrupts herself with a rather indelicate hiccup, “what you are.” 

“Good lord,” Gwendolyn chuckles. “I married this goof.”

Elina snorts from her spot in the chair, one leg draped over an arm as Violet dances with Emily. “Yeah, you did.” 

Emily passes out on the sofa, sprawled across Mildred and Gwendolyn’s laps, at around 2:00 AM. Mildred’s heavy eyes indicate that she’s perilously close to following Emily’s lead. 

“Sleepy girls,” Gwendolyn says, soft and affectionate. She runs a lazy hand through Mildred’s hair. “Time to take the little one upstairs, I think.”

“Ooh,” Violet exclaims, standing up from her chair so quickly she nearly spills her drink, “let me put the muñeca to bed, oh _please_? I can read her a bedtime story.”

“Rakas,” Elina says, “she is already asleep. I think the time for bedtime stories has passed.”

Violet’s features arrange themselves into a dramatic, pitiful pout.

“Oh, Violet, don’t be sad,” Mildred pleads through an enormous yawn. “Please don’t be sad. You can read her a story tomorrow. She would love that.”

The next two days of Elina and Violet’s visit fly by in a bright, happy haze of exploring and activity. Violet and Elina play babysitter on the afternoon of the third day to give Gwendolyn and Mildred some time to themselves. They go to the library and Emily checks out a veritable stack of chapter books. They get ice cream cones and wander leisurely through the town, ending at the playground. Emily shows them her best monkey bars tricks, which Violet watches through her fingers. 

Back at the house, Violet indulges Emily in a good two hours of dollhouse playing, which is really just listening as Emily moves the dolls from room to room and narrates in extensive detail their imagined lives. Afterwards, Emily decides she wants to write biographies of Elina and Violet, and spends some time interviewing them. She jots their responses in an old school notebook and wears a brown trenchcoat from her dress-up box that at one point belonged to Gwendolyn.

“I’m going to be a journalist if I’m not an actress,” she explains, “like Nellie Bly.”

Emily wakes early on the morning of the fourth day, her mind set on preparing Elina and Violet breakfast in bed like they’re staying in a glamorous hotel. She’s not allowed to use the oven or stove unless a grown-up is in the room, which limits her creativity some, but she refuses to be discouraged. She makes toast with strawberry jam and cuts two peaches into neat slices, which she arranges around the edge of the plate. She pours two glasses of orange juice and folds napkins into her best approximation of a swan. She finishes off the tray with flowers she picks from the garden.

Pleased with her handiwork, she holds the tray carefully and tiptoes upstairs. The guest bedroom door is slightly ajar, so Emily pushes it the rest of the way open with her hip. When she enters, she discovers Violet and Elina sprawled across each other in bed, dressed but just barely. They are murmuring and giggling to each other, but as soon as they realize another person is present they yelp and separate. Violet pulls the covers up so nothing is visible but her face.

“Pulu!” Elina says breathlessly. “We--I--you…you made breakfast! Wonderful!”

“Oh, it’s alright,” Emily says knowingly. “You just love each other. One time I made Gwendolyn and Mildred breakfast in bed and they were doing the exact same thing.” 

Later that afternoon, Kathleen visits, shyly comes inside when Emily reveals they have guests. She asks endless questions about Violet and Elina, particularly interested in two women from two entirely different countries. Violet teaches all five of them a folk dance where each couple joins hands and spins in a wheel. It becomes a bit more complicated when the partners switch, and Kathleen finds herself staring up at Elina, going entirely pink beyond her blonde hair. 

Kathleen stays for their late lunch, but has to return home after that, promises Emily that she’ll read her biographies when they’re finished. “She’s going to be an actress in my shows,” she tells Violet proudly. 

“So I hear,” Violet winks at her.

On the penultimate day of Elina and Violet’s stay, they travel into the city. Of the five of them, Violet is the only one who’s never visited New York City, and during the car ride there Emily very earnestly explains to her what she can expect.

“The buildings are so tall that I can’t look at them for too long, or else I get dizzy,” she says, “and you should always hold someone’s hand, because Gwendolyn says the city will eat you up if you let it. When I was very little I thought that meant _really_ eat me up, but it’s only an expression.”

“Gracia,” Violet says very seriously, the sybillant slipping a little, no _s_ on the end. Emily knows this is a gesture of thanks and respect. 

Elina’s mouth twitches. “Pulu,” she says, “when you say _little_ , just how young were you?”

“Just barely nine years old,” Emily says solemnly. “A child, really.”

They arrive and park near Central Park; Gwendolyn bounds from the car, has to double back to retrieve the picnic they’ve packed for themselves. She leaves finding a good spot to Emily, who tugs her along until she has found the _perfect_ spot, politely requesting the blanket-- which they’ve brought be laid out to keep their clothes neat-- be laid out. Gwendolyn and Elina oblige. 

When Mildred reaches for their sandwiches, she wraps her fingers around an envelope. It has Elina’s handwriting, sharp and precise, sprawled across it, addressed to one _Emily Briggs Ratched_. She hands it to Emily with a furrowed brow. 

Violet bounces slightly, grin warming her face. “Go ahead,” Mildred encourages Emily. 

Emily gasps when she opens the envelope. “ _Guys and Dolls_?!” she exclaims. “Tonight!” 

“Well,” Elina smiles, “we are dressed for it.” 

Emily launches herself at Elina. “Oh, _thank_ you!” 

Elina laughs. 

They leave the park with Emily tugging a bewildered Violet along behind her. The buildings are indeed dizzyingly tall, and Violet barrages Emily with question after question. Emily answers with the kind of patience one might expect from Gwendolyn, and Mildred and Elina exchange knowing glances. 

From there, they go to the Museum of Natural History. Emily’s favorite area is the Hall of Mammals, and her favorite exhibit is the enormous blue whale model that hangs suspended from the ceiling, gracefully and quietly commanding the attention of everyone who passes.

“The scientific name for the blue whale is _balaenoptera musculus_ ,” Emily tells them as they look up at it, “and it can live to be 110 years old.”

She lies down beneath the whale and gestures for the others to join her. They do, one next to the other, holding hands like a link of brightly colored paper chains. Emily points up at the whale. “Look,” she says, “when you lie like this the whale looks a little bit like it’s swimming.”

She cocks her head to the side. “If you ever meet a whale,” she asks, “do you think it would remember you if you saw it again?”

Mildred squeezes Emily’s hand. “That’s a lovely thought, sweets,” she murmurs. “I hope it’s true.”

Elina is pensive as they leave the museum. She’s quiet, too, as the five of them walk along, clearly pondering their experiences over as Violet brushes their pinkies together. 

Gwendolyn is content to walk the city and waste time until their showing of _Guys and Dolls_ is open, but Violet gasps so loudly when they pass FAO Schwarz that she decides they simply must go in. 

Emily immediately loses Violet. She worries over this until Mildred takes her hand, reminds her that Violet is actually an adult, and offers to search with her. They walk hand in hand through the aisles until suddenly, Emily spots Violet crouched and gently touching the noses of little baby dolls. 

“Violet!” Emily scolds. “You could have gotten _lost_!” 

She plants her hands on her hips and a scowl takes over her face and she suddenly reminds Violet of an equally upset Mildred, scolding Violet for eating cookies too quickly and burning her tongue. Violet grins up at them both bashfully; Mildred rests three fingers on her lips, trying very hard not to laugh at Emily’s little outburst. 

Violet is cajoled into taking Emily’s hand-- by now, Elina and Gwendolyn have found them-- and they wander with wide eyes through the aisles and displays. Emily pauses in front of a bright green typewriter, reaches out to touch it before she pulls her hand back. “That’s quite lovely,” she sighs. 

She continues moving, and Violet pauses in front of the typewriter herself. She slides her hands around it before Elina gently rests a hand on her elbow, an eyebrow raised. “Later,” Elina tells her. 

Violet only pouts a little. 

When they’ve circled the place twice-- the second time just to make sure they’ve seen every item on display-- it’s nearly time for their show. They grab hotdogs from a street vendor, with Gwendolyn walking Elina and Violet through how to order to get precisely what they want. They gather around a fountain to eat, and Mildred has to jump backwards when a burst of ketchup nearly lands on her skirt. 

Emily gapes at the high ceilings and ornate architecture of Loew’s 46th Street Theatre, relying on Mildred to pull her out of the paths of oncoming people. They find their seats as the orchestra warms up in the pit. The conductor is bald and wears a green bowtie. His jacket is black silk, patterned with flowers. Their seats are orchestra front, right in the middle, because Elina would not even for a second entertain the notion of buying anything less than the absolute best. 

Emily is too excited to sit still while they wait for the musical to begin. She kneels in her seat, looking this way and that, trying to memorize the geography of her experience. She reads through the program three times, and tells anyone who will listen--usually Violet--the facts about the show and the cast that she thinks are the most interesting. 

The lights flash, two times, and Emily slaps a hand over her mouth against a high-pitched squeal. “They do this at school!” she exclaims. “When we’re about to start assembly! It means, _time to be quiet, take your seats, we’re about to begin_.”

During the show itself, Emily’s excitement is intense enough that it renders her stock-still. She leans forward in her seat, desperate to be closer to where the action is happening. Even in the hushed darkness they can see the sheer thrill on her face, the way her eyes light up during the musical numbers. 

The others enjoy it too, though no one quite so much as Emily. Violet in particular is delighted by the colorful set and swirling bodies. During “Adelaide’s Lament”, as Miss Adelaide mourns the fact that her neurotic anxiety has given her a cold, Gwendolyn bites back a smile. She leans across Elina and taps Mildred’s shoulder.

“Look,” she whispers, “it’s you.”

Mildred lets out an affronted gasp and scowls at Gwendolyn. “Oh, _do_ shut up,” she huffs. Gwendolyn giggles and Mildred playfully whacks her arm. “You’re not _nearly_ as funny as you think you are, Gwendolyn Briggs.”

During intermission Emily stays in her seat, forgoes a trip to the bathroom, too overwhelmed to do anything besides think about what she just finished watching. She pulls her legs into her chest and balances her chin on her knees. She stares fixedly at the stage, brow furrowed with the effort of her concentration.

Elina, who stayed back with Emily, softly touches her elbow. “What is on your mind, pulu?” she asks.

Emily sighs dreamily. “I’m doing that,” she says, her voice full of conviction, and points at the stage. A small shiver runs down her shoulders and back. She looks at Elina, and her eyes are fierce and shining. “That’s it for me. I’m doing it. I don’t care how. I _have_ to.”

Elina considers Emily. “You know something, pulu?” she asks. “I think you are the kind of person who will do anything she sets her mind to.”

Gwendolyn, Mildred, and Violet return from the bathroom, and Gwendolyn presents Emily with a little bundle of flowers. “From the refreshment stall,” she says. “You can toss them onto the stage at the end of the show, or keep them as a memento. It’s up to you.”

Emily does end up choosing to throw them when the cast take their final bows. She half stands on her chair and blows them kisses, and is nearly certain that the actress who played Miss Adelaide smiles right at her. 

The final day of Elina and Violet’s visit arrives, and the only thing that keeps them all from being too gloomy is the promise of their fancy last night dinner. They decide on the Biltmore Hotel. Mildred frets and fusses about the cost, but Elina and Gwendolyn both wave away her concerns like they would pieces of lint on a coat.

“It is not an issue,” Elina says with firm decisiveness, and just like that the matter is settled. 

Violet offers to do Emily’s hair, which Emily agrees to readily when she remembers Violet had done Mildred’s hair for her wedding. Violet enters Emily’s room wearing a bright purple and chiffon-covered off-the-shoulder dress that nips in at the waist with a tight little bow. The skirts flare out dramatically, and Emily is struck by how complementary the shape of the dress is to Violet’s curves. She says as much; Violet blushes and rolls her eyes, but drops a light little kiss to Emily’s cheek before starting on her hair. It leaves a faint pink mark behind. Emily doesn’t feel compelled to wipe it away.

When Emily and Violet descend the stairs, Emily stops in her tracks at the sight of Gwendolyn and Elina. Both women are wearing rather sharp suits. 

Gwendolyn is in a pair of light gray, high-waisted linen trousers that Emily doesn’t think she’s seen before. They’re paired with a matching jacket and an emerald green blouse with a high neck that’s tied off in a bow. She wears suspenders and heeled oxford shoes to match. 

Elina wears black shoes with heels so thin Emily thinks they may be the _stilettos_ she’s been hearing about. Her pants hug closer to her body, and her jacket has sharper shoulders than Gwendolyn’s; her jacket and pants are cream, and she wears a silky peasant top beneath the jacket that is rich in purple and red flowers. Her hair is up in a French twist, as it has been every day she and Violet have been here. 

Elina holds out a hand to Violet, and Emily is transfixed by the way the two women fit together so easily. Gwendolyn holds a hand out to her, and she takes it, tries to imitate the way Violet holds Elina’s arm, and suspects Mildred could do this better. 

“Where’s Mildred?” Gwendolyn asks her. 

“Oh, just putting on the finishing touches,” Mildred murmurs from her watching point at the top of the stairs. 

Gwendolyn looks up and Emily watches as a grin spreads across her face. Emily turns to look at Mildred, nearly gasps when she spots her. Mildred wears a silken emerald green dress, a perfect color match to Gwendolyn’s blouse; it has thin shoulder straps that frame the square neck of the bodice nicely, and skirts that bounce lightly when Mildred descends the stairs. She wears matching gloves and white shoes, and has donned the pearls Emily and Gwendolyn gave her for a joint birthday present. 

When Mildred reaches the two of them, she slips her hand into Gwendolyn’s waiting elbow, reaches across to Emily and brushes her thumb along the pink mark with a smile. Emily beams back at her. “I love this dress on you,” Mildred murmurs.

Emily’s dress is a petal pink that very nearly matches the smudge of lipstick on her cheek. It has a full ballet skirt and a wide sash that ties into a bow. It’s sleeveless, and the bodice is ruffled and lacy. 

“You both need at least a little shrug,” Gwendolyn tells them. “You’ll freeze otherwise, and I only have the one jacket.” 

Mildred gets a white shrug for herself and a matching one for Emily. Violet very nearly melts because she finds it so adorable. “Oh, my beautiful girls,” she says. “Ángeles preciosos.” 

Emily steps forward. She nervously shifts from one foot to the other. She reveals an envelope she’s been holding behind her back. “This is for you,” she says to Violet and Elina. “Don’t read it yet, okay? It’s for later.”

Elina nods seriously and tucks the envelope into her pocket. “For later, then,” she says.

As they wait for their reservation to be ready-- they’ve arrived about half an hour early, as Emily has learned is bound to happen with any timed activity involving her mothers-- Emily watches Elina inch closer to a piano. She holds a hand out to a passing waiter in a tuxedo, murmurs a question that leads to a single nod. 

Her shoulders relax a little, and Emily follows her as she settles in on the bench of a glossy black Steinway. Her fingers gently press at the keys in a few different chords, progressions Emily recognizes but can’t place. Then she takes a deep breath. 

What happens next feels like a spell. Elina’s fingers move quickly, like dancers across a rotating stage. Emily doesn’t think it should be possible for the keys to sound so delicate while she moves with such speed. Elina slows slightly for a few moments, rocking forward towards the keys with her eyes locked on the hammers that ripple in front of her. She straightens as the tempo picks up again, and hunches slightly when she returns to the slower sounds. 

Gwendolyn’s hand on Emily’s shoulder breaks her trance, and she glances up as Elina straightens again. “Go look,” she encourages. 

Emily thinks she hears Gwendolyn distantly asking Violet something, but she isn’t sure what Violet’s answer is. Instead, she climbs up next to Elina on the bench, rendered breathless by the closer view. Elina slows again, rocks towards Emily.

“You like it?” she asks, barely above a whisper. 

Emily nods fervently, almost afraid to break the spell by speaking. “It’s _beautiful_.” 

Elina smiles, twists her hand over and under and over itself in a complicated run of notes. “Chopin,” she reveals. “Waltz number 7.” 

Emily nods, returns to watching. Elina’s fingers dart further and further up the keyboard until they suddenly lift. 

There’s polite clapping from half-interested patrons around them. Elina smiles, though she keeps her head ducked, eyes on the keys now. Gwendolyn, Mildred, and Violet approach. 

“I didn’t know you played,” Mildred says, surprise warbling through her voice. 

“There isn’t room in our house for a proper piano,” Elina shrugs. “I learned as a girl. Obviously the memory never fully faded.” 

“A proper piano,” Violet repeats, shaking her head, teasing one hand at the back of Elina’s neck. “We have plenty of room for a piano half this size.” 

“So not a proper one,” Elina confirms. She dusts her fingers over the shiny black cover, and Emily imitates her, somehow surprised that the wood is so smooth. Almost like glass. Elina notices. “Would you like to play?”

“Oh,” Emily breathes, pulling her hands back. “No, I don’t-- I don’t know anything.” 

Elina smiles. “You don’t need to. Here, copy me.”

Emily does, and the two of them progress halfway through what Emily thinks might be a Christmas carol before another man in a tuxedo comes to tell them their table is ready. 

There are oysters on the menu, which makes Mildred blush when Gwendolyn points it out. Emily wrinkles her nose at the idea of them. They have hearty, delicious meals, which they follow up with crème brûlées for each of them. Emily has sparkling apple cider, and the adults have champagne. 

Emily nearly falls asleep in the back on the way home, but she fights off her weariness to listen to Elina and Violet, determined to relish the small moments they have left. 

In the morning, Emily watches Elina and Violet over the kitchen table as they all eat breakfast. The atmosphere is the quietest it’s been all week, and slightly solemn, as they all prepare to say their good-byes. Emily doesn’t like good-byes; she’s had to say entirely too many of them in the not quite eleven years she’s been alive. Mildred knows this, because she struggles with them, too. She lets Emily sit on her lap while they eat, and runs gentle, loving hands through her hair.

An abundance of hugs are exchanged outside next to Violet and Elina’s car. Violet lifts Emily halfway off the ground with the force of hers. She whispers something to Emily in Spanish, and though Emily doesn’t know the meaning of the words, she knows it’s being said with incredible affection. Elina cups Emily’s face in her elegant, manicured hands. She leans down and presses her forehead to Emily’s.

“Pulu,” she murmurs. “Be good, yes? And take care of your mamas for me.” She winks through her tears. “They need a smart girl like you to keep them out of trouble.”

Gwendolyn steps forward first, wraps her hands around Violet’s biceps. “Not goodbye, now, is it?”

“Papi,” Violet whimpers, her chin quivering. Gwendolyn squeezes at her arms, and she lasts another few seconds before launching herself up, wrapping her arms around Gwendolyn’s neck. Gwendolyn rocks backwards slightly, rubs at Violet’s back. 

Elina holds a hand out to Mildred and wiggles her fingers. Mildred goes to her immediately. “Muru,” Elina breathes, “no trouble. Mmm?”

She can’t say much else around a tight throat, but Mildred nods against her, squeezes her tight. 

The four women switch hugging partners, with Mildred and Violet whispering little half-sobbed phrases, Gwendolyn and Elina gripping each other with silent, stubborn faces.

Elina is the first to remove herself from an embrace, clears her throat, opens the car door for Violet. “Rakas,” she rasps, and Violet sniffles loudly before slipping into the seat. Gwendolyn wraps an arm around Mildred’s waist to pull her close. Mildred wraps an arm around the front of Emily’s shoulders and holds her in front of her mothers.

Violet rolls down her window as Elina wipes furiously at her eyes and revs the engine. “Te quiero,” she shouts over the noise of the car. Gwendolyn beams and blows a kiss.

Violet and Elina pull away, each of them waving a hand out the window. Gwendolyn waves back to them until they disappear, and Emily holds on to Mildred’s arms around her neck.

* * *

_Dear Violet and Elina,_

_I am so glad you came to visit us this week. It felt very special getting to meet you both. My moms had told me a little bit about you, but they don’t talk a lot about when they were in Mexico. I think it’s because they went to help Gwendolyn when she was sick, and that was very sad for both of them. Sometimes I get scared that she might get sick again, but Mildred says Gwendolyn is better now and that I don’t have to worry. I can tell that you love both of them so much. We’re lucky that we get to have you._

_I would very much like to write to both of you sometimes if that’s alright. I’ve always wanted a pen pal, and I could maybe even have two if both of you write me back. I would love to learn about Mexico and what it is like there. I know Violet said I could come and visit, and I would like that someday, I think. Mexico is so very very far away and I am scared I would be homesick. But Gwendolyn says it is important to do things that scare you a little. Could I fly in a plane? I have always wanted to do that. I’ve only ever traveled in a car and on a train._

_Do you have any pictures of Mildred and Gwendolyn from when they lived in Mexico? If you do can I see them? I want to know everything I can about them. They’re my favorite people in the entire world. I think there are things in Mildred’s life that are sad like there are things in my life before them that are sad. I know some day we will talk about them, but I don’t want to make her do something that is hard for her._

_Guys and Dolls was the best present I have ever gotten in my entire life and I think it will always be the best present I have ever gotten. Some day when I am an actress and people ask when I decided I will tell them the story of Guys and Dolls and how you bought us the tickets to see us so everyone knows that it’s a little bit because of you._

_I hope you like this letter and I hope you will write me letters back. If you would like and Kathleen says it is alright I can send you some of the stories and plays she writes. They’re very very good, maybe even better than some grown up writers. If she does not become a writer she wants to be a fashion designer. She is good at that too. She said it was lovely to meet both of you. Maybe when I come to Mexico she can come with me? That would help me not be homesick._

_Thank you for taking such good care of my moms when they were with you in Mexico because it meant they could find their way to me. I love you just as much as I love them for that._

_All my love forever and ever,  
Emily Briggs Ratched_

* * *

_Dearest, darlingest Elina and Violet,_

_I’m mailing this letter as you drive back to Mexico, which means it could very well be following you there. Isn’t that such a lovely thought? As though we’re sending some small piece of us with you. Maybe this letter will even be waiting in your mailbox by the time you’re home. Oh, my sweetest girls, I am so glad we got this week with you. It was everything I could’ve hoped for and somehow even better. How is that you’ve only been gone for a day and I already miss you so terribly?_

_In fact, Mildred, Emily, and I all miss you so much that it’s made us sick! Or perhaps it’s the hometown germs you left us as a surprise parting gift. (I am only teasing, Violet). Emily and I are mostly fine, just rundown and sniffly, but Mildred has, as usual, caught the worst of it, the poor thing. We are making her rest, which is quite the challenge, as I’m sure the two of you will remember. I worry about her lungs but right now her cold seems very decidedly in her head, which of course is miserable for her but I prefer that to it being in her chest._

_The two of you are all Emily can talk about right now, and I am pleased as punch about it. She thinks you are the most glamorous people she’s ever heard of, and really she isn’t wrong. I cannot begin to tell you what the visit meant to her, and to us. You made yourselves our family when Mildred and I were completely alone, and we will never, ever be able to properly express our gratitude. It is a profound fucking thing, that sort of love. It defies words._

_I’m starting to feel a bit tired, so I think I’ll end this letter here, but please do write back. For the next visit, it’s our turn to come to you. Your little muñeca is desperate to go to Mexico. She already has a list of all the places she wants to see._

_Xoxoxo,  
Gwendolyn_

* * *

When Gwendolyn returns from putting the letter in their mailbox, she finds Emily and Mildred lying together on the sofa. Mildred is sipping a mug of tea and Emily is reading. They’re both sporting identical reddened noses and sleepy eyes. 

“My poor girls,” Gwendolyn coos. She tempers it with a sniffle of her own. “Another round of tea?”

Mildred attempts to answer but her voice comes out as a raspy croak. She clears her throat and tries again. “I’m still finishing this one,” she says, “but maybe in a little while.” She gives Gwendolyn the sternest look she can muster under the circumstances. “ _You_ need to be resting too, missy.”

It’s charming, though Mildred doesn’t mean for it to be. Gwendolyn smiles and pushes her fingers along Mildred’s forehead and through her hair. Mildred’s eyes close reflexively. “Emily?”

“Can I have hot chocolate instead?” Emily asks, punctuating her request with the most pitiful sniffle she can manage.

Gwendolyn drops a kiss onto Emily’s head. “Well,” she says, “how could I ever say no to that?”

“It’s not _fair_ ,” Emily whines, cuddling closer to Mildred, “that we had such a fun week and now we have to be _sick_.” She sounds so thoroughly put out that Mildred nearly laughs.

“I know, baby,” Mildred soothes. “How are you feeling?”

Emily shrugs. “Not so bad,” she says. She yawns. “Sleepy, mostly.”

Mildred runs her fingers through Emily’s hair, humming to herself. “Sleep, then. Just for a bit.”

Gwendolyn returns with a mug of steaming hot chocolate, settles herself down by Mildred’s knees. She squeezes gently at Emily’s feet. “A nap doesn’t sound too bad, actually.”

Mildred pushes the blankets back and tries to stand up. “I should strip the guest bed,” she says, “and start the laundry, and…and--” but she cuts herself off with a loud sneeze.

“ _Bless_ you, honey,” Gwendolyn croons. “It can wait, it can all wait. Lie back down? Please? For me?” 

Emily holds a hand out in imitation of Gwendolyn, and Mildred sniffles against a wave of emotion. It launches another sneeze through her.

“Bless--” Emily starts, cuts herself off with a sneeze of her own.

“Ooh, bless both of you. Come here,” Gwendolyn utters. “I don’t think any of us are going anywhere today.”

“What about Mexico?” Emily murmurs drowsily, her eyes drooping shut.

Gwendolyn and Mildred both laugh quietly. “Sweets,” Gwendolyn says, “I promise that Mexico will still be waiting for us once we’re feeling better.”

**Author's Note:**

> SHOOBIE DOOBIE


End file.
